


Jars of Fireflies

by Ophelia_Blue



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-06
Updated: 2012-06-06
Packaged: 2017-11-07 02:25:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/425865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ophelia_Blue/pseuds/Ophelia_Blue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A few years after Voldemort's defeat the wizarding world is settling down again, but a few things remain left unfinished. When brought together by a mere chance, Harry and Draco may discover feelings they've hidden away for many years.<br/>So basically Drarry slash.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

On a warm summers day, a newspaper caught by the wind blew through the streets of Diagon Alley. Each individual broad sheet came loose from its cheap metal fastening and filled the street where many witches and wizards were bustling their way through the crowds. Some sheets of the paper fell to the cobbled pavement and were quickly trampled underfoot, whilst others soared into the sky brushing past the heads of disgruntled wizards in their bid for freedom. More newspapers joined in, all flying away from the same knocked over stand just outside knockturn alley. Beside the stand stood two young wizards, one attempting to catch the newspapers as they escaped and the other standing still, his mind still in shock with his foot still entangled in the leg of the stall. A final page, caught by a strong breeze, rose up into the air. Both wizards jumped for it, their hands brushing against it's wafer thin corner but neither of them were quite tall enough to grab hold. As the wizards fell back to earth, the page lifted higher into the air and was swept by a current over the roofs of the shops lining the street.

It travelled through the air, unnoticed by the passers-by below until it hit into the chimney of Flourish and Blotts which halted it's journey for a few seconds before it escaped around the side, continuing it's journey over the roofs. But like all things that go up - it had to come down - and a magical newspaper was no exception to gravity. The wind current dwindled and it began to descend, fluttering in the fading breeze. But this sheet of paper was not to become like the others abandoned on the ground and crumbled under heavily booted feet, it was lucky enough to be caught in a simple charm before it could get any closer to the ground. The charm came from a wand reaching out a cracked open window, on the second floor of an old looking building. The streets below were thronged with people but not one of them thought to look up, too engaged in their own conversations. The glass of the window was cracked and dusty, having not been cleaned in many years, but the boy on the other side of the glass clutching onto his wand didn't mind or even notice. He gave his wand a flick and the newspaper floated softly towards the window and through the gap. Withdrawing his wand, he silently closed the window, careful not to draw any attention to himself from passers-by, though his efforts weren't needed as the rest of the world was oblivious to his existence.

Noises from the pub downstairs drifted up into his room, but he ignored it and turned away from the window, leaning his back against it's dirty grey surface to allow light to fall down on the slightly crumpled paper in his hands. The title of the paper was The Daily Prophet and the article on the page was written in four columns, two on either side of a magically charmed moving picture in the middle. The picture showed a woman, dressed in a dark green trench coat covered with a pattern of faded gold swirls with a line of old-fashioned buttons running up the centre. Her hair, tied in a tight ponytail at the back of her head was bleach blonde, apart from a small patch of black at the top. Her eyes kept glancing at the camera and then turning to stare at a man to her left dressed in a long black cloak, who was hiding his face from the camera. A wisp of blonde hair could be seen over the top of his hands, becoming slightly more visible each time he turned to his wife and tried to duck his head behind the collar of the coat.

The title of the article read: Malfoys Proven Death Eaters.  
And the headline underneath read: Son still missing.

The paper was crushed violently by the pale hands of the boy who held it. He kept screwing it up until it was as small as he could make it, then threw it against the wall opposite, dislodging peeling paint that had barely been hanging on since it first started to peel many years ago. The shabby cream coloured flakes drifted to the floor to lie with the crumpled heap. The boy flicked his wand, and the paper erupted into flames, leaving only a small pile of black ashes and a small black stain at the base of the wall.

The stairs outside the boy's door creaked loudly as heavy footsteps sounded. He ignored them, and swung himself around to face out the window once again. As the light hit his face, a small trail of water on his right cheek reflected the light. He hastily wiped it away, cursing his eyes, and ran a hand through his ghost white hair. It fell back over his eyes like it always did, flopping over the left side of his face and obscuring his vision, though the tears flooding from his tear ducts were doing a good job of blinding him anyway.

He raised a sleeve to the window, and rubbed a away some of the dust, giving himself a better look outside. He could see the sign of the pub he was staying in just to the right of the window, swinging backwards and forwards in the wind that was gaining strength once again. On the pavement outside lay some tattered remains from a few newspapers that had caught on people's shoes as they'd walked through diagon alley.

His stomach rumbled. He couldn't remember when he'd last eaten. Sighing, he stumbled to his feet. The pub downstairs was awfully busy at this time, late afternoon, but he was sure he might be able to find a table in a corner to eat alone, and anyway, maybe one of the conversations downstairs would interest him. It was better than spending another evening all alone cooped up in this room.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Would really appreciate some feedback -hint- -hint- <3

The Leaky Cauldron was alive with noise. The afternoon was slowly moving towards evening and it was the pub's busiest few hours. Draco's wish of finding an empty table somewhere quiet was looking less and less likely as he made his way round tables crowded with people, and the streaks of spilt food across the floor. He kept his head downcast, with his chin tucked into his plain black coat and hands shoved in pockets, as he moved towards the bar at the other end of the room. He took one of the two empty barstools and surveyed the pub.

Many dusty oak tables lined the floor, leaving roughly a foot of space between each table for the guests to move in. Half-filled salt and pepper shakers were strewn across each table, along with various sauces overflowing and covering the centre of the table in a disgusting sticky substance. Old men dressed in long black robes were shoveling a lumpy stew of a faint grey colour into their mouths, though most of the contents was dribbling down their chins and into their long greying beards. Their teeth, which were visible in between each noisy mouthful, were a yellow-y colour, with black tips from lack of cleaning. A tall bookcase stood in the far corner, filled with dusty books covered in cobwebs and food from greasy hands. A shelf above the bar was strewn with odd collectibles, like a small wheel still spinning and a few battered old tarot cards that a bartender had found on the floor one evening and had never been claimed. A remembral lay forgotten under a table by the door, allowing it's owners forgetful mind to be troubled for the next few weeks over exactly what it was they'd forgotten.

Loud squawks sounded from a caged owl on one of the tables, but was quickly silenced by it's owner,a short bald man, pushing some of his leftovers through the bars of the cage. On the windowsill outside, a black cat patrolled backwards and forwards, searching for a way inside to the warm fire burning away next to the bar. Beside the fire, covered in muddy footprints, feathers, and spilt drinks was an old advertisement for fire whiskey, with the words '2 for 1' printed across it.

From the corner of Draco's eye he caught movement on the other side of the bar. A bedraggled looking bar-maid was making her way towards him, wiping grease onto her apron as she approached with half her ginger hair hanging out of its loose ponytail.  
"Can I help you, sir?"  
She asked, resting a hand on her hip and cocking her head to the side.  
"Pumpkin juice please" he said, pulling his hand out of his pocket holding a handful of sickles.  
"Thank you sir" she said, taking the money and pouring him his drink, splashing the contents down the sides of the glass.  
He took it and enjoyed a few sips, the cool feeling working wonders for the dryness in his throat.  
"Excuse me, sir".  
He looked back up again to find the barmaid squinting at him and leaning across the bar, "don't I know you from somewhere?"  
Draco was taken aback. He hadn't been recognized in months and had come to believe that no one would recognize him.  
"No, I think you're mistaken" he replied, giving her a quick, unconvincing smile, as he studied her face.  
He recognized her from his school days, she'd been in the same dormitory as Pansy Parkinson and that Millicent girl... She'd also been in his charm class every fortnight... Tracey Davis! - that was her name.  
"...ou sure?"  
He blinked, realizing she'd been talking whilst he'd been day dreaming.  
"Sorry, what did you say?" he apologized, flicking his fringe across his forehead and running his tongue along his lips.  
"I was asking if you were sure"," she replied, "I just mean you look so familiar"  
Draco panicked, she was close to recognizing him and from the newspapers he already knew he was being searched for...  
"Nope, I'm sorry, people often think they recognize me. I've just got one of those faces," he rambled, "now I really must be going sorry"  
"Yes yes" she murmured, giving her head a shake, "sure thing".  
He stumbled to his feet, pouring the pumpkin juice down his throat and made his way to the exit.

Outside, the sun was setting and casting a beautiful orange glow over the rooftops in Diagon Alley. Not that Draco noticed any of this of course. His eyes were fixed on a couple exiting the shop opposite him. The man, holding onto the woman's handbag and juggling bags of shopping, was chatting to the girl whose bright orange hair closely resembled the light from the sunset.  
Draco stood still, his breath caught in his throat and his eyes transfixed. He knew he should move, run away anywhere but he'd lost all feeling in his legs. He wanted to turn his face away, but that would mean looking away from the couple, and Draco didn't believe he'd be able to do that. The man turned his head in Draco's direction but showed no signs of recognition and continued his conversation as he passed within inches of Draco, entering into the pub.

The sound of his voice brought back so many memories from Draco's childhood. It hadn't changed since the last time he'd heard it, so many years ago, but then again he'd never studied that sound like he was doing now. He longed to hear it again but couldn't risk being recognized so forced himself to take a few, feeble steps away from the pub entrance. He breathed in and out heavily, focussing on the cool sensation of the air entering and leaving his lungs. It would be getting colder soon, and he knew he'd have to return to his room eventually, but couldn't risk entering the Leaky Cauldron until the couple had left.  
He began to wander down the street, glancing at the shops starting to close, but he saw none of it. All he could think about was the sound of the voice he'd heard briefly and the smell of the man that still lingered around him.  
He entered Flourish and Blotts and sat down on a stool amongst the bookshelves. Digging his hand into his pocket he pulled out a box of Bertie Botts Every Flavour Beans and began to suck on one absent-mindedly. Tiredness was slowly wrapping itself around him, causing him to yawn and lean back to rest against one of the bookshelves. He wondered if they would have left the pub yet so he could return to his room, but didn't want to risk it. Give it another ten minutes, he thought, resting his eyes.  
Draco inserted another bean into his mouth and began to chew, fiddling with the box and throwing it back and forth between his hands. This one tasted of earwax, a taste that was suppose to be quite unpleasant but Draco had become quite fond of over his school years. It was the centipede flavour he could never stand. As a child he'd often wondered who had tasted a centipede in order to know what it tasted like. His Dad had always told him that there were centipedes in the bean, but he'd never been sure whether to believe him.  
His Dad... and his mother...  
Two people he'd never see again, unless he ended up in Azkaban with them if someone recognized him.  
A small tear rolled down his cheek, which he quickly brushed away. He'd sworn never to cry, and he sure as hell wasn't going to start now.

"Are you alright?" said a dreamy voice beside his left ear, startling him out of his thoughts. He opened his eyes, and fell backwards off the stool he was sitting on.  
"Oh, did I scare you?" asked the blonde girl beside him. She was dressed in dark green trousers with a light, pale coloured blouse covered in dust from the books she clutched in her arms. Her blonde hair, was neatly curled in tiny little ringlets, which stood out from her head at seemingly random angles. On her face she wore pale pink lipstick and bright green glasses with pink tinted lenses that curled up at the top.  
She reached out a hand to help him up, which he warily took and staggered to his feet.  
"I was just coming over to tell you that we're closing the shop now and... wait, don't i know you?"  
That was the second time today he'd been recognized. Draco shook his head quickly.  
"But I must," the girl said, holding out her hand to him again, "see this ring - it turns purple when i'm with a friend and yellow when it's just an acquaintance, and right now it's certainly a weird colour".  
Draco studied the ring. It showed a very pale purple colour that occasionally lightened and darkened.  
"What does that mean?" He asked, "am I a friend then?"  
"It's your decision" the girl said smiling absent-mindedly, "I had another ring that worked better but it disappeared... Daddy thinks the nargles took it".  
She shrugged and turned to leave, "come on Draco, we're closed now".  
"Waiitt, you know my name?" he asked, following after her, debating whether to run or keep talking.  
"We went to school together, so why would I forget it?" she said smiling, "but I doubt you remember mine".  
"Why do you think that?" he asked.  
"You look kind of confused. My name's Luna," she answered, leading him through the bookshelves and closer to the exit, "will I see you tomorrow?"  
"Maybe" he said, obviously meaning no and in a hurry to get out of the shop.  
"Ah, well that's a shame" she said, sighing, "I won't tell anyone I saw you if you don't want though".  
Draco didn't even bother asking her how she knew that. He just nodded, said thank you and hurried away.

He was just a few metres away from the Leaky Cauldron when the door opened and the man from before walked out. This time their eyes met, and Draco felt the world slip away from under his feet. His head hit the cobblestone street, and he allowed himself to be sucked away into those beautiful green, green eyes...


End file.
